Classmates Claire Holman, back left, and Tamika Aumiller, center, hug while an unidentified student touches a portrait of Emily Keyes after a memorial for Keyes in Bailey on Sept. 30, 2006. Keyes was killed on Wednesday when a lone gunman invaded Platte Canyon High School in Bailey.

You’ve probably forgotten my school shooting. Honestly, I prefer it that way. I’ve grown tired of the way strangers react to the name of my small town: the troubled look, the “Is that where … ?”, followed by a long, anticipative pause.

Here’s the short version: On Sept. 27, 2006, a stranger walked into my school — Platte Canyon High School in Bailey — held multiple girls hostage, and then killed Emily Keyes before shooting himself.

I’ve told that story so many times — first to myself in an obsessive, repetitive way typical of trauma, and then to friends, family and strangers — and you know what’s remarkable? After all these years, the story’s core message is one of resilience. And no matter who I tell it to, I can typically get the person to a place where they agree that common-sense gun legislation should be enacted.

In 2006, three school shootings occurred in one week. But what then felt like an anomaly has today become the norm.

Too often I learn about another shooting, the death toll sometimes too astronomically high to comprehend. Those days unfold with a familiar cadence. My high school classmates post messages on social media reminding others of our story, reaching out to one another, stepping into the role of a well-worn support system, and saying to the newest members of our club, “We’re here. You’re not alone.”

Then, like clockwork, there’s a text from my mom, because though Sept. 27 was one of the worst days of her life, she knows that for me, today will be crippling. I’ll devour the news, triggering myself by looking at the photos of children, hands on heads, being evacuated by a SWAT team, or by reading the quoted text messages they sent to family and friends as their world fell apart around them.

After Platte Canyon, Columbine High School students were there for us. They welcomed us to the club — the senseless gun violence club. This club used to be exclusive. We could keep track of each shooting and we could respond, sending care packages to say, “We’re here. You’re not alone.”

But today, the club has grown too big. It’s too big to wrap my arms around and hold, too big to “never forget” the names of the schools and dates.

Here’s what I know: Gun violence relates to the obscene number of guns in the U.S. We represent 4.4 percent of the world’s population, but over 40 percent of civilian-owned guns. We have failed to address toxic masculinity and its connection to violence. And the NRA’s incredible amount of power makes it impossible to sue gun makers, illegal to create a registry of gun-owners, and prevents any money from going to gun violence research.

Here’s what I also know: In Colorado, we have a proud history of responsible gun ownership. We have also watched Columbine, Platte Canyon, Colorado Springs Planned Parenthood and New Life Church, Aurora movie theater, and Arapahoe High School. And most of us agree on fundamental policy changes like instituting background checks for private sales, banning assault-style weapons, and creating a federal database to track gun sales.

Here’s the hard truth: You and I haven’t done enough. Three of the 10 deadliest mass shootings in modern U.S. history have occurred in the last six months. The latest have even managed to kick Columbine off the list.

Now is the time to act. Support lobby groups like Everytown for Gun Safety or Moms Demand Action, and on March 24, join us for March for Our Lives. And lastly, challenge your family and friends who oversimplify this issue blaming it on just mental health and insisting things will never change. We can do better — enough is enough.

Because I need you to join me in telling these incredibly resilient new members of my club, “We’re here. You’re not alone. And we are going to fight for you.”

Chelsea Warren lives in Denver.

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